


Sixty six

by dragoonsbeard



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Guilt, Hurt Vinsmoke Sanji, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-07 10:11:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21456343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragoonsbeard/pseuds/dragoonsbeard
Summary: The abuse that sanji experienced beneath the Vinsmokes was much more severe.Sanji vowed to never let the crew know of it.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro & Vinsmoke Sanji, Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji
Comments: 20
Kudos: 376





	1. Chapter 1

The mark was a raw and spitting red, 

rough to the touch and proof of a moment undeniably horrific. The sharp edges of its grilled surface was a stark contrast to the porcelain white of sanji’s skin. It curled over the curve of his back shaping the symbol that would forever haunt him.

66

It was a brand, it’s burden was a heavy weight to carry and its memory- an even worse nightmare.

Sanji could still smell it sometimes, the scent of scorching flesh yielding beneath the vehement heat of a metal poker. The clawed hands of his brothers as they forced him to the floor snarling and snapping. Shouting. Screaming

Sanji had nearly vomited when he had returned home to the sunny and begun cooking chunks of meat for his captain. The usually mouthwatering smell of sizzling beef had the cooks stomach twisting, choking him with fresh memories of Germa.

No one knew of the branding, sanji had kept that detail securely under lock and key. He couldn’t bear the reactions of his Nakama if they knew the true suffrage that the Vinsmoke family had brought him.

It had been a few weeks since the fiasco on whole cake and nearly the same amount of time since jou. All he wanted now was a sense of normalcy- well as close as one can get on the grand line.

And yet the mark- which felt more that a brand of a slave, or a spiteful gift given to forever leave him desperate to claw his own skin off. Never ceased to give him hell.  Sanji found himself slumped over the kitchen counter flipping through cook books searching for something that could distract him, a creation that could purge him of any negativities. 

As the evening would have it. Soon entered zoro.

The man was as silent as ever actions clearly expressing his want for the comfort of sake. It was predictable, the swordsman’s actions as he clopped into the galley in his big black boots.  Sanji didn’t even bother looking up as he acknowledged him.

“Touch the sake and I will end you- brutally”

“Fuck off swirly” zoro quipped before zeroing in on the booze storage, his swords bounced off each other as he strode forward.

Sanji’s focus strayed to the three weapons, attention lost in the rhythm of their clatter. For a frightening moment the chef envisioned the swift swipe of zoro’s blades slicing the spitting mark from his back, filleting him into freedom. 

“Hey, marimo”

Alcohol in hand the moss head paused his thievery to glare at the cook, expecting retribution. “What.”

As soon as the impulsive urge to make good on his Nakama’s talent butted into his mind, it fled. Sanji simply sat blinking at the swordsman.

“Die shit-head”

Zoro’s offended snarl echoed as he left the galley. The cook made no move to peruse.

A few days later Sanji had found himself sinking into the steaming heat of his bath, the humidity of the bathroom was heavy, it’s thick body embraced Sanji as he sat facing the window waiting for the tub to fill.  It was a gentle image, the cook as he sat in the baths center, rippling water lapped at his pale thighs as he gazed beyond blurred glass into ocean. His hair was damp at the edges and plastered to the nape of neck. The wet locks took on a dark shade unlike the glowing gold of the rest.

Zoro it seemed had a habit of interrupting Sanji during moments of introspection. And as such- walked through the bathroom door.  As quickly as Zoro had seen the placid cook he had spun to leave- however a shock of gnarled red froze the swordsman in the doorway.

Sanji had not yet noticed Zoro’s presence, and as such the ex bounty hunter had free rein to drag his attentions to the mark that disfigured the smooth of Sanji’s back.

A white hot slice of emotion struck Zoro in the chest. His startled gasp echoed like a gunshot within the fog of the washroom. The cooks face snapped to his direction and almost immediately the blond had scrambled to face his back away, low water in the bath swished about the sides with his motion.

For a moment they merely stared at each other, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Get. Out.”

The wide eyed stare twisted in a foul mix of rage and disparity as Sanji snarled at the other- his body frozen still. Water gradually rising in the tub- forgotten.

The swordsman did not retreat but instead his voice rung out against the tiles. 

“Tell me what that is-“

“I said get the fuck out!”

Zoro’s arm lashed out and with an anger becoming of him- slammed the bathroom door shut

_ “ I will not ” _


	2. Waiting game

The tone of the mans voice struck sanji into a stony silence. His face fell slack into an expression so frighteningly blank that the absolute fury that was roanoa Zoro- melted into extreme distress.

The blond sunk further into the warm waters of his bath- the startled ridged quality of his limbs washed away from what once was fierce into a somber resignation.

Zoro strode forward, mist parted around him as he paved his way to the bath. without delay he snatched sanji’s bare forearm and slid him to the edge of the tub. His intentions to spin the cook around were delayed as the blonds hand shot out to clasp zoro’s wrist.

“Stop” sanji resisted weakly “zoro just- stop”

The swordsman’s demanding grasp stilled but the clench of his jaw grew more prominent “Show me” he bit out

With a long suffering sigh sanji bowed his head, there was no way that the swordsman would leave without getting what he wanted. Sanji removed his hand from the pirates wrist and instead rubbed at his eyes in dismay.

“There is nothing to show-“

“Cut the crap.” Zoro’s voice hissed as he once again tugged at sanji’s arm in attempt to dislodge him from his defensive position.

“No You cut the crap.” Sanji spat back “This is none of your business!!”

“For fuck sake-“

Both hands were on him now, the entirety of the swordsman’s palms were anchored firmly about the curve of the cooks biceps, and with one sudden burst of strength the blond was slipping to the side. Back bared to the onslaught of zoro’s gaze.

In its wake- heavy silence.

Eventually the sensation of calloused fingers trailing over gnarled scar tissue caused the cook to disturb the quiet with a startled hiss.

The hand paused but remained stationed upon the marking, touch hesitant.

“Someone did this”

Sanji’s sarcastic deflection became trapped in his throat, unable to lash out at the unfamiliar tone of the swordsman’s voice.

“Someone branded-“ zoro choked, his splayed hand pressed into the curve of the blonds back

“sanji...”

The cooks gaze remained fixed upon the water of the tub, he did not dare look at zoro. He did not want to see the expression on his face. He didn’t want to see the swordsman kneel onto the tiles of the bathroom floor.

The swordsman made no other move than to kneel by the tub and wait, either patient or stubborn in his self proclaimed vow to protect the crew. His hand remained for a time before eventually slipping into the water. Waiting, always waiting.

The twist of foul memories revulted behind sanjis eyes, and what was once a somber bathe in the steam of his secrets. Decended into a catastrophic level of exhaustion.

The two of them had remained, settled strangely within this atmosphere of tried wills. The water from the tub had eventually begun to crawl over its sides. Liquid pooled about Zoro's knees- he payed no mind.

Fairing that any movement would bring with it conflict. The blond made no intentions to remedy the factor of a flooding bathroom. The steady flow from the tap was a welcome distraction.

It was the shift of ripples on the water- that had ended this thought, zoro had lifted his hand that lay restless in the water- to turn the flow to an end.  
How could a simple action feel so final.

Zoro had never been a man of words or subtle touches. He was a man of discipline, a stubbornness often mistaken for patience.

But sanji was sure he could out bide this swordsman. He had partaken in his fair share of waiting, a lingering gift from childhood trauma.  
Perhaps this was true, for the swordsman spoke.

"You said. your two years were hell." The rumble of his voice betrayed its intent as a question. But left it blunt, a statement.

And sanji, could not bring himself to correct this new notion. To insinuate he had received this mark during his sail as a strawhat. That the crew, the captain, the first mate could not protect his own nakama.

"Where were you? When we became separated."

The cook did not speak, for it would be best for Zoro to think such a thought. Lest he discover the true depravity of this scar.


	3. Chapter 3

Sanji murmured, the soft tone of his voice swallowed in steam, enveloped by a silence that oppressed him. Golden lashes fluttered while he remained with his gaze fixed upon water. Beads of moisture that lay trapped within them melted away with the ghost of a movement.

“it...” the blond paused to bite aimlessly at a flake of skin at his lip “it doesn’t matter”

A tanned fist clenched beneath a mirror of liquid surface and its owner lay who against the porcelain of the tub, simmered in his wrath. “it _does_ matter” Zoro ground a treacherous sound.

Sanji peered over his shoulder at the swordsman. A gaze that had always been fumed by a defiant blaze- a soulfulness so bright and blue and_ there_. Was gone. In its place a pair of eyes glazed with ice, there lay no room for argument here- no chance for Zoro to push more than he already had. Sanji had shut down- locked himself away from prying eyes with a mask more reminiscent of a Vinsmoke, than the mould of his own.

“_not_ any more.”

The blond rose from his bed of water, he paid no mind to the man who sat upon ebony tiles and instead plucked up his towel. He begun the methodical task of slipping on his black slacks well aware of the dark eyes that trailed the blemish upon his back. Once soft blue slid over milky shoulders and hid away its terrible scar, the cook strode from the bathroom. Behind him lingered the swordsman- hand still submerged in water.

The sunny that afternoon had been swallowed by a staggering heat, from above blinding sunlight had bet down upon wooden panels and its unfortunate occupants. Regardless of this dilemma Sanji had pranced across the ship, swathed in his trademark black suit completely and utterly undisturbed by such weather.

“_god_, Sanji! Aren’t you hot?” Usopp exclaimed, his traumatised face plastered pathetically against Sunny’s rail as he caught sight of the black ensemble _“__please _take your jacket off! Just looking at it is making me feel worse”

Sanji chuckled and spun on his heel with an amused quirk of the lips “if i couldn’t handle the heat, i would never have been a chef”

“ughh but i-i have... no hot jackets in the sun disease!” with that the sharpshooter melted into smooth wood. “s’ fatal. I’m dying- _help. __Hel-__” _Usopp rolled his head to the side and crossed his eyes, this effect paired with the tongue that hung from his mouth created quite a sight.

“oh no” the cook dead panned “He’s dead. I guess we will just have to bury him at sea” Sanji moved to throw usopp over the rail

The supposedly dead sharpshooter had immediately begun to squeal. His belief that Sanji would indeed throw him into the cold turn of water below caused the young man to immediately forgo his act and scutter away. Sanji chuckled at the sight, thankful for short reprieve from his thoughts.

Elsewhere, Zoro prowled about Sunny’s railings, sharp eyes fixed upon the cook as he continued his day as if the discovery of his mark was only a dream. Zoro did not like this, not how Sanji went about his duties with a smooth gait and smile, so perfectly manicured. That even as the swordsman knew of what secrets lay beneath, he could not see beyond such a flawless mask.


End file.
